


Not Just Her Girl

by jumpinjulianofnorwich



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7605913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpinjulianofnorwich/pseuds/jumpinjulianofnorwich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of oneshots focused on Delia's developing relationships withing Nonnatus and Patsy's reactions. A fairly fluffy piece of writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homesick

The first night Delia Busby kissed Patsy Mount they were sitting on the fire escape of the nurses’ home. It was the night before Delia was to receive her nurse’s certificate, and they were both tipsy on the bottle of Scotch that Patsy’s had procured as a graduation present. It was, Patsy would later reflect, like something out of a movie: the two of them staring at what few stars were visible in the London sky as the brisk late spring air enveloped them, talking about their lives and their dreams. There was a joyful spark that Patsy felt when Delia’s lips met hers like nothing she had ever experienced, and even in the emotional muddle of it happening Patsy could tell that it was an important moment in the course of her life. One she would never be able to undo. 

Yes it was certainly cinematic. Except for the ball of fear that tied Patsy’s stomach up the second Delia pulled away was hardly to be found in romances. Nor were the hushed tones they spoke in the next few days as they tried to work out exactly what the kiss meant for them. But as long as she lived Patsy would never forget the way Delia had reached out and cupped her cheek, the gentleness of her voice as she tipsily whispered “It’s you and me Pats. It always has been,” before leaning in and shattering, among other things, Patsy’s previous self-image as someone opposed to the romantic. 

In light of that moment, it felt good to be the romantic one for a change. 

They were sitting on the cramped balcony of their hotel, a chocolate torte and bottle of champagne between them. Patsy had taken great pains to keep them hidden from Delia the past two days, wanting to save them as a surprise for their last night of holiday. Of course the balcony view wasn’t much to look at-their cheap hotel afforded them only a view of a grimy alley and the rooftops of other, nicer buildings. But, Patsy reflected, they were Paris buildings, and that certainly had to count for something. 

The balcony wasn’t really a balcony but instead a glorified plant shelf that extended less than three feet outside of their hotel room with a flimsy iron fence around it. Delia did not seem to mind the cramped quarters, happily leaning against Patsy, practically in her lap. Patsy couldn’t help but tense. It was late, but they were still outside and basically in public. One of the first things they both had noticed, however, was that they had to worry a little less about being open in Paris. They had counted three other same sex pairs staying in their hotel alone who could only be described as affectionate. 

As Delia gulped her second glass of champagne Patsy cracked a smile. “Slow down Deels. It would be a tragedy if you got sloshed and fell over the railing. Your mother would have my head.”

Delia giggled. “I like to think that Sister Julienne would get to you first.” 

“We’re not actually sure that Sister Julienne is capable of anger,” Patsy observed. “Instead, she seems to have mastered the art of effective disappointment.” 

Delia eyed Patsy skeptically. “What about two weeks ago when you and Sister Winnifred got waylaid at the carnival coming back from your rounds?”

Patsy looked at Delia quizzically. “We got home a little bit late but no harm no foul. I mean she was annoyed but-“ 

Delia shrugged. “I just know that when my mother gave me that look I knew better than to show my face around her for a week, unless I was doing chores.” Patsy grimaced. “Speaking of which don’t expect my mother not to come for you head. It doesn’t matter if I’m not dead, you’ve done an excellent job of defiling me which in her mind is essentially the same thing.”

“Delia!” Patsy exclaimed, mortified. Delia smiled and nuzzled Patsy’s neck, doing absolutely nothing to dispel her girlfriend’s mortification. 

“Hush love. Enjoy it while it lasts.” Patsy obeyed, relaxing enough to let Delia toy affectionately with her hand. She studied Delia’s dreamy face, unable to fight back a compulsive smile. The week they had spent together had been sublime, and Patsy had savored the joy of having Delia all to herself again. Perhaps it was selfish, Patsy reflected, but she would have given anything just to extend the week, to extend this time she had where the two of them could belong exclusively to each other. 

While Patsy was studying Delia’s face, Delia was studying the torte next to them thoughtfully.

“If you want another piece take it,” Patsy said. 

“But I need to watch my figure for the boys!” Delia protested, causing Patsy to snort. “I was just thinking about how much Sister Monica Joan would have loved that pastry shop we passed by today.”

“Delia, there isn’t a pastry shop on earth that Sister Monica Joan wouldn’t love.” 

“No I know,” Delia replied. “But remember they had that gorgeous icon of Saint Brigid hung up. And it was right next to the bookstalls.” She smiled happily. “It just seemed like the sort of place she would have adored.” 

Patsy nodded, looking out thoughtfully towards the Parisian sky as Delia nestled closer against her. She realized all of a sudden that it was not the first time Delia had brought up Nonnatus over the past few days. When they had gone to wander about the glitzy Paris dress shops she kept trying to guess which ones Trixie would wear and which she would make fun of. When they had gone to the Louvre she had stared pensively at the paintings of Jesus and His disciples, wondering audibly what Barbara would have made of them. At the bookstalls she had debated whether to get Sister Mary Cynthia a tiny, but beautifully designed prayer book (which she had not since it was Catholic and in French) and whether to get Phyllis what was either a book of Spanish jokes or Spanish pickup lines (which she had under the logic that Phyllis would find it funny either way.) Patsy had even noticed Delia looking longingly at, she thought, Notre Dame earlier that afternoon, and now Patsy wondered if perhaps she had been looking at the string of nuns that had passed by them before they entered. 

“Delia,” Patsy asked quietly, “you’re not homesick are you?”

Delia laughed. “Of course not Pats. I mean I love Wales, but against Paris with you? No contest.”

“No I meant…for Poplar. For Nonnatus”

Delia gave Patsy a look of surprise. “Are you not?” 

“Well…no not really,” she said, sounding a little defensive. “I too find that against Paris with you it’s not really a contest.” 

Delia shrugged and took a sip of champagne. “You’re homesick?” Patsy repeated in disbelief.

“I mean…yes a little. Of course a little,” Delia said drowsily. “This holiday has been wonderful, truly it has. But I’m ready for us to be around our people again.”  
Patsy furrowed her eyebrows. “You seemed more than happy for us to be alone when we moved into the flat last year. And as I remember you weren’t thrilled to be living cheek by jowl with nuns.” 

Delia sighed sadly. “Well yes. But…oh Pats you remember what the nurse’s homes were like. All cliquish and isolating. Other than you, I used to think I’d never want to live with anyone if I could help it. It turns out I just hadn’t found the right situation.”

“And what was the right situation?”

“Living with people you actually like,” she said smiling. 

Patsy regarded her girlfriend apprehensively. Though she had hoped that Delia would come to enjoy living with Nonnatus’s other residents, she wasn’t sure what to make of the strange mix of betrayal, disappointment, and possessiveness that Delia’s remarks were eliciting. 

“Well I’m glad to hear you’re at least ready to go back to separate rooms,” Patsy said, trying not to sound bitter. 

“Of course I’ll miss sharing a room with you,” Delia said with a mischievous glint in her eye. “But I am looking forward to my own bed again.”

Patsy raised an eyebrow. “I thought you enjoyed sharing that as well.”

“Obviously. But no I meant my bed specifically, as in the one I normally sleep in. In my room.” 

“There are certain things we can’t do in that bed,” Patsy pointed out. Delia reached out, with a sad smile, gently stroking Patsy’s cheek. 

“If you like there’s still time for us to take advantage of this bed,” Delia said in a melodious voice. 

Though Patsy was still inarticulately annoyed with Delia, it took the short girl only a little bit of coaxing to get Patsy back into their room and, more importantly, back between their sheets. Afterwards, they lay intertwined in a muddle of discarded clothes and unceremoniously crumpled blankets, letting the cool night air flow in through the French doors (Patsy had audibly gasped when she realized they had left them open, causing Delia to laugh and insist that it was probably nothing the people of Paris hadn’t heard before.) The room was dark, and they both savored their last night of being able to hold each other, with no apprehensions. There was a bitterness that both of them held that went unacknowledged, that they would soon have to return to Patsy’s furtive visits after Trixie was asleep, always fully clothed and agonizingly careful.

“You know,” Patsy pointed out “there are a lot more of our people in Paris than in Poplar.” 

“That’s not true,” Delia said after a moment. “Our people in Poplar just have to hide it more.”

“That’s why I thought you’d want to come here.”

“You were right,” she said lovingly. “But it’s also why I want to get home. Because otherwise I’ll trick myself into thinking I never want to leave.” 

“But why do you want to leave?” Patsy asked insistently. 

Delia looked up into Patsy’s face. “Pats. Are you really telling me that given the choice you would stay here? Away from Trixie and Barbara and everyone else?”

Patsy bit her lip. “Well I would consider it. Wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.” She nestled against Patsy’s chest. “But not for very long.” 

“Why?” Patsy asked, genuinely curious. She ran her hand absently through Delia’s hair. 

“I remember the first…well…the only day I came home after we moved into the flat. All of the support and love I felt coming from you…it was…I had never really felt that. Not quite like that.” She smiled up at Patsy. “I don’t know if you taught it to them, or they taught it to you, but as frustrating as it can be…I feel something close to that when I come back to Nonnatus. It's where our work is. It's where our _lives_ are.” 

Patsy stopped stroking Delia’s head, a sudden burst of recognition coming over her. That was why Delia’s comments had gotten under her skin, she realized. Patsy had never been a particularly jealous person. She had caught Delia glaring possessively, at both men and women, who eyed Patsy too long. She had even grumbled when Patsy and Trixie had started spending time together, taken by surprise as much as Patsy by the fact that she actually enjoyed her housemates. But Patsy had always been too taken aback by the fact of Delia, that Delia loved her, to really be jealous. Patsy simply did not want in quite the same way that Delia did.

But then Delia had only ever seemed to want two things: to nurse and to be with Patsy. That she now wanted something in between the two was, Patsy had to admit, a little bit scary. 

“Does that mean you don’t want the flat anymore?” Patsy asked, trying not to sound worried. 

Delia reached up and pecked Patsy on the nose, or tried to, and missed planting a clumsy kiss between her cheek and mouth. 

“Of course I do. I’ve just adjusted our plan to include weekly visitors and plenty of baking for the nuns when the holidays roll around. Your housekeeping skills will be put to good use love, don’t worry.”

Patsy could not argue with that as she wrapped her body around Delia’s. They did not mention the possibility that weekly visits might tip off one of their friends to the true nature of their relationship, or that as their ages progressed people might wonder at two single professional women living in such close quarters. There were still parts of the flat idea that Patsy knew were terrifyingly precarious.

But if the week in Paris had taught her anything it was that she still desperately wanted it. And that, as much as it pained her to admit it, Delia was in a much better place to wait for that reality than she had been a year ago. She kissed her girlfriend’s forehead, knowing that she should be thankful that they were even a place to consider a future together, even if did feel stolen, like this last moment before they got on the ferry home the next day.

A cat yowled in the alley. She could hear two people, of indeterminate gender, speaking longing French to each other in the hall. Delia slept peacefully by her side, content, beautiful, and, Patsy reminded herself, undoubtedly hers.


	2. Nicknames

“Are you alright?” Trixie asked, bringing Patsy out of her reverie. It was a late summer afternoon, Trixie and Patsy lounging on the stoop with magazines while Barbara and Delia demonstrated basic first aid to Barbara’s youth group. 

Patsy was somewhat enthralled by the sight of it: Barbara and Delia laughing and joking with the children and with each other. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to break into a grin or storm up to their room and slam the door.

“I’m fine,” she said, keeping her tone even and intentionally turning her attention back to her magazine. Trixie eyed her skeptically but did not contradict her friend. Eventually the children dispersed and Delia and Barbara wandered into Nonnatus’s back garden, returning with four ice pops in damp wrappers.

“I’m afraid they might already be melting,” Barbara said apologetically “but Mrs. Rollins snuck us some extra pops.” 

“Oh what flavor?” Trixie asked. 

“The flavor that turn your hands and faces bright red” Delia declared.

“So the good kind,” Barbara added. 

“Well tell Mrs. Rollins thank you,” Trixie said “It’s so hot I would accept anything cool even if it was flavored like overcooked Brussel sprouts.”

The four sat languidly on the stoop, sucking their sweets while taking in the gentle hum of the neighborhood in the summer. Parents and children called to each other, a bicycle’s occasional whistle could be heard, but for the most part things crawled along at a blessedly lazy place.

“I suppose it’s days like this that make you miss the excitement of Paris,” Trixie observed.

Delia laughed, her face softening when she saw Patsy’s wistful look. “Not really,” the Welshwoman said. “We saw enough Bohemians lounging outside of cafes with their cigarettes to know that the French are also good at lazing.” 

“But it must have been such _glamorous_ lazing.”

“Not to knock cherry ice lollies though, but the Parisian sweets were better,” Patsy chimed in. 

“Indeed they were.” Delia shot her girlfriend a suggestive smile that caused Patsy to pull her magazine up to her face, in a hurried attempt to hide her blush. 

“Well you can lust after your truffles and French jam all you like,” Barbara said defiantly. “But I am more than satisfied with my cherry pops.”

“You might want to lay off them though if you go through with that camping trip Babs. I’m not sure that having a bunch of sticky-handed children running around the woods is the best idea.” Delia stopped when she caught sight of her girlfriend’s shocked face. “What did I say?”

“What did you just call her?” Patsy asked, still in disbelief.

Barbara and Delia exchanged glances while Trixie fought to hide a smile. 

“Babs?” Delia asked uncertainly. She stared her girlfriend down with a cheeky smile. “I’m sorry have I not earned the right to use her nickname? Is that a privilege reserved until after I get my midwife’s certification?”

“Well no it’s just-I just-“ Patsy’s defensive stammering was not helped by the fact that Trixie was now giggling beside her.

“I don’t mind if she calls me that,” Barbara said. “I rather like it actually. I never had people call me by a nickname until I came here.”

“Well I’m…I’m glad,” Patsy said trying not to sound put out. 

“Patsy just because you came up with a nickname doesn’t mean you’re the only one who gets to use it,” Trixie chided gently.

“I thought everyone used it,” Delia said. Trixie shook her head. “Well maybe they should. It suits you.” 

“Oh you could get Tom to start using it,” Trixie said, still grinning. “That is if he gets Patsy’s permission of course.” Patsy sighed huffily and fought the urge to glare at her roommate. 

“I think Tom would feel rather odd calling me by a nickname,” Barbara said. “He only calls other blokes nicknames.” She beamed at Delia. “But honestly I like having only you lot use it. Back home the girls only referred to me by my whole name, ‘Barbara the vicar’s daughter.’” This got a laugh out of Delia and Trixie and even Patsy smiled. 

“Some days I’m convinced my mam really named me ‘Delia please don’t’’” the Welshwoman added. “It seems like half the time she says my name it’s to correct me.”

“They used to call me ‘Nurse flirty Franklin’ in training when they thought I couldn’t hear,” Trixie confessed. “I must say I think I prefer just plain ‘Trixie,’…even if the moniker wasn’t entirely unfair.” They looked expectantly at Patsy, whose eyes were trained back on her magazine. 

“I’m sorry to disappoint but my behavior never earned me any extra names,” Patsy said drily. She hesitated. “Although if any of you ever call me ‘Patience’ I shall never speak to you again.” The three other nurses exchanged glances, filing away that information for future reference. 

They relaxed on the stoop, blissfully watching the afternoon dissolve. Barbara and Delia asked Patsy about her potential plans for the Cubs. They griped about the particularly difficult patients they would have to deal with in the coming week. They made plans to go to the pictures when they all had a night off later in the week, arguing fervently about which movie (Delia and Barbara wanted some new artsy drama while Trixie wanted the latest Audrey Hepburn picture.) Patsy was struck by the fact that, for all intents and purposes, they just felt like four friends relaxing and talking together. Delia’s presence no longer felt as if it carried some strange, unspoken secret. In this moment she was not Patsy’s girlfriend, she was one of the nurses, one of their friends. 

As the afternoon wore on Sister Winnifred hastily past them on her way to woman in labor, prompting Trixie to return inside to take her turn on call. Tom “wandered” by and asked Barbara if she would join him for a walk down by the pier (when asked if they would like to join the couple Patsy and Delia hastily declined, both because they knew they were not wanted and because the idea of a double date, however unintentional, seemed thoroughly awkward.) As they watched the two walk down the street Delia idly said “Why don’t we move to the garden?”

Patsy shook her head, giving her girlfriend a wry smile but acquiesced. Delia grabbed her hand and led her through the gate, causing Patsy to look around nervously. The second it closed behind them Delia glanced around to ensure that they were alone and then pulled Patsy into the ivy covered corner between the gate and the house, kissing her deeply. 

Patsy was too stunned to react. Delia pulled away, wearing the same cheeky grin when she always teased her. 

“What was that?” Patsy asked, breathless. 

“I wanted to see if you taste like cherry. Your lips are a rather brilliant shade of red right now.”

“Do I?” the redhead asked, trying to hide her shaking. 

Delia did not reply but instead led Patsy to the bench next to the garden. Sensing that she was still shaken up by the sudden kiss Delia refrained from touching her. “I’m sorry was that too-“

“No,” Patsy said quickly. She paused. “A little.” 

Delia smiled apologetically. They were still working out the boundaries that came with living together in what was essentially their workplace. It wasn’t just the fear of being caught that now hung over them, but the transition between being friends, coworkers, and lovers depending on the situation. 

“I’m sorry...about that and the nickname,” she said finally. 

Patsy looked at her reproachfully. “You know there’s nothing that you need to apologize for. And besides, it’s obvious that you have no regrets whatsoever about teasing me.” 

“True,” the Welshwoman said. “But can you blame me. You’re adorable when it comes to Barbara.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Patsy asked indignantly. 

“Oh just the way you care about her and look out for her and make sure that she feels supported,” Delia said. “It’s endearing to watch you come out of your shell like that.” 

Patsy fought back a smile, overcome by her girlfriend’s flattery, teasing though it was. “You two seem to be getting on well yourselves.”

“Don’t worry, she's not stealing me away,” Delia assured her girlfriend. “Tempting though it is. I won’t even let her call me Deels.” 

Patsy snorted. She paused, and eyed her girlfriend warily. “Do you…let anyone else call you Deels?” Delia laughed, and quickly pecked her girlfriend on the cheek. 

“That is an honor reserved for you and you alone Cariad, Don’t you worry.”

“I appreciate it,” Patsy said. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Delia paused, looking at Patsy thoughtfully as she considered her next move. Finally, with a hint of gravity she said “You’re welcome Patience.” 

Later, when they all sat down to dinner, Trixie and Barbara noticed Delia’s compulsive smiling and the unusually dramatic silence Patsy directed at her friend. The three nurses exchanged conspiratorial looks and endeavored to use the word ‘patience’ as frequently as possible for the remainder of the evening, much to Patsy’s chagrin and the confusion of the nuns.


	3. Compline

“Well that went better than expected,” Delia said as she toyed with the, now somewhat ragged, toy baby Nonnatus kept for instructional purposes. 

“You’re catching on quickly,” Sister Mary Cynthia said as she packed away the pelvic model. “I think it’s safe to say that the midwifery exam at this point will just be a formality.”

Delia ran her finger over the baby’s forehead, smiling to herself. “Come now, you’ll jinx me Sister.” 

“I don’t believe in jinxes,” the nun replied. “Especially when it comes to nurses as competent as you. Don’t think we’ve forgotten your moment of heroism. The way Sister Monica Joan tells it you’d think you were an angel sent by the Lord himself to help that mother.” Delia chuckled and helped her gather up the midwifery books they had spread out on the coffee table. They tidied up in comfortable silence, taking in the feeling of Nonnatus in the evening. From the kitchen they could hear Sister Winnifred’s cheerful humming, smell whatever sweet pastry she was baking for the church auction that weekend (they couldn’t help but grin at Sister Monica Joan pacing the hallways trying to look nonchalant.) From upstairs they could hear the sound of Nurse Crane’s Spanish records, an occasional laugh from Trixie or Barbara. Nonnatus no longer felt strange and unfamiliar to the Welsh nurse. It felt like where she was supposed to be at the end of the day.

“Are you alright Delia?” The nun asked, her soft brown eyes brimming with concern. 

“It’s nothing…I was just thinking…” she trailed off, trying to bury the thought, but the nun’s earnest face would not let her. She sighed. “It was almost exactly a year ago. The accident.” 

“Oh,” the nun replied quietly. “I’m sorry I hadn’t realized.” The nurse turned away and shrugged.

“It just seems like bad luck is all.”

“May I offer some advice, courtesy of Sister Evangelina? Don’t think about luck. The families do more than enough of that for you. It’s best for baby that you don’t, and best for _you_.” 

“I know…it’s just…I never expected my life to change so, well so _suddenly_.” She tried to mask her frustration from the nun. Though she was finding herself slowly falling in love with Nonnatus, and the promise of her new vocation, it still pained her to think about the future the accident had stolen from her. 

The nun sat down in one of the chairs and picked up a prayer book, running her fingers gently over the cover. She looked up at the nurse thoughtfully. “You know when I first came here I never imagined myself joining the order but sometimes…” she took a deep breath. “Sometimes God has other plans.” Delia was about to say something biting but stopped herself. Not because she was worried about disrespecting the nun’s faith, but because she detected the sister’s hint of irony, the sharpness to it that occasionally crept into her voice ever since her own accident. 

“And anyway,” Sister Mary Cynthia continued “you know that even though we regret the circumstances of your coming…we feel incredibly blessed to have you here.” Delia gave the nun a wry smile. “Even though I nearly decapitated that doll the first time you tried to explain a breech birth?” 

The nun chuckled. “We’ve all put that poor doll through some ordeal, or another. Sister Evangelina even pulled its arm off once. You should have seen Fred’s face when she asked him to glue it back on.” Delia raised her eyebrows, trying to imagine the formidable Evangelina asking Fred to fix what was essentially a child’s plaything. “But in all seriousness,” the nun continued “we’re…thrilled that you’re joining our staff. It’s easy to see what a good nurse you are, and it’s obvious how well you get on with Trixie and Barbara and…and Patsy.” There was a tension that arose between them after the nun said Patsy’s name which Delia could not tell whether or not she was imagining. She sat down on the couch with the nun, attempting to return her earnest smile. 

“Thank you,” she said. “Truly. I just hope I’m not a disappointment.” She instinctively touched the back of her head where scar tissue had grown hard and rigid. She noticed that the nun looked away and touched her neck, now pale, but where Delia wondered if she still sometimes felt the shadows of bruises. 

“It’s admirable,” the nun said, looking at the nurse with quiet wonder. “I can never imagine coming back from something so…so frightening to embrace your work again with the dedication that you have.” 

Delia raised her eyebrows. “Sister after what you…endured last year, believe me I’m the one who should be doing the admiring.” She paused. “And I do. What you did, to help those woman. It was courageous. Valiant even.” 

The nun pursed her lips, turning her face away from the nurse’s. “Can I tell you something?” the nun said quietly. “I’m worried you might…think less of me for it.”

Delia looked at the nun in disbelief. “Try me.” 

The nun smiled apologetically at the girl. “When I woke up…I didn’t remember who I was. All I knew was that I was lost, and in an immense amount of pain. Then I saw my habit, torn off my head like a…like a dirty bandage and I regretted ever laying eyes on the thing. All I wanted in that moment was to forget who and…and what I was.” She fiddled idly with the cross that hung around her neck. “Just like that I was ready to give up. After seeing how you’ve recovered, how you’ve thrown yourself back into the fray…it seems so selfish somehow.” 

“But sister, you did come back.”

The nun gave her a weak smile. “Eventually, yes.”

Delia looked at the nun, trying to collect her thoughts. She remembered how helpless she had felt after the accident, without her memories to anchor her. How she had delighted in rediscovering each one, and how she still sometimes woke up in the middle of the night going over every single detail of her life as if in doing so she would never be in danger of losing them again. 

And then she thought of the first time she remembered Patsy’s name, and the fluttering in her stomach when she did that could only mean one thing. The memory of what she was. Remembering that had been one of the most terrifying things she had ever experienced. 

“You’re right, it is selfish,” Delia said “but some memories weigh harder than others. It’s natural to want to let go of some of them.” The nun shook her head sadly.  
“Not when they come from a place like this.” 

Delia was about to say something but was cut off by the sound of Sister Monica Joan’s voice. “I was merely sampling the batter to ensure that you have achieved the proper equilibrium of spices. Your cakes are as delicate flowers, requiring the utmost attention and constant cultivation!”

“Sister Monica Joan there won’t be any cake if you keep filching my batter!” came Sister Winnifred’s agitated reply. 

The nun and the nurse burst into a fit of giggles until the dispute resolved itself enough that they could no longer hear it in the living room.

“Delia,” Sister Mary Cynthia said warmly, when they had regained their composure “no matter what, you will always have a place here. I’m not going to pretend it’ll be easy…but please don’t doubt that.” The nun reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Delia’s. “I certainly have, on multiple occasions, and I can assure you, it doesn’t accomplish anything.” 

The nurse fought the urge to pull away. She wanted so badly to believe the nun’s words, but the thought of the mornings where Patsy would sulk out of her room like a guilty puppy, or of how the woman visibly cringed whenever Delia touched her, as if the Welshwoman’s hands were made of fire, made her grit her teeth as she smiled back. Not only that but she couldn’t help the fear that still lurked in the back of her mind, encouraged by her mother, that she could so easily lose her grip and fall back into that helpless woman she had been when she woke up in the hospital a year ago.

She remembered seeing Sister Mary Cynthia the day after the nun’s attack. It had not been the marks on her face, or the way that she wandered about the house like a ghost that had startled her, but the sight of the nun without her habit. She had not known the nun long, but in that moment she had wanted nothing more than to see her transformed back into the smiling religious that had greeted her when she arrived that first day. The sight of the nun smiling at Delia now, even with the woman’s newfound edge that in some ways was reminiscent of Sister Evangelina, was one of the most reassuring things she could imagine. 

“How can I worry when I have housemates like you?” she finally asked the nun with a smile. 

The nun did not answer but instead gave Delia’s hand a firm squeeze before going back to her prayer book. The two sat in silence, Sister Mary Cynthia with her prayers and Delia with her midwifery books. Occasionally they would sneak furtive glances at each other, mulling over something the other had said, but they sat uninterrupted until Sister Julienne came and called for Compline. After the nun left, and Delia could hear the others begin singing, she got up and walked down the hall to the chapel. She stood a few feet away from the door, leaning against the wall. If she listened she found she could now pick out each woman’s distinct voice-Mrs. Turner’s and Sister Julienne’s confident, melodious leads, Sister Monica Joan’s shaking but lovely alto, Sister Winnifred’s playful soprano, and Sister Mary Cynthia’s voice, flat but strong.

She closed her eyes. There was something ethereal about the nun’s chant. It wasn’t quite like music. It felt like a blanket, enveloping the house to shield it from the crisp autumn night. It was alluring but familiar and even, if Delia focused on it too long, a little spooky. It unsettled her as much as it calmed her. 

“Delia?” whispered Patsy’s deep smooth voice. She stood in the hallway, jacket and uniform still on, bangs windswept. The older woman seemed startled to find her girlfriend outside the chapel. Delia opened her eyes and smiled, offering her hand for Patsy to take. “Hello Pats,” she said softly. “Stay with me a minute?” 

The redhead allowed herself to be pulled next to her, leaning against the wall with their fingertips just barely touching.

“Do you remember the first night you brought me here?” Delia whispered. “When we snuck into the chapel with our fish and chips?” Around them the nun’s voices lifted up _”keep watch dear lord with those who work or watch or weep this night…”_

“Of course,” Patsy said.

“It took me so long to convince you to bring me here,” the nurse said quietly.

_”pity the sick Lord Christ”_

“Can you blame me?” Patsy asked, eyeing the chapel doors. “You can’t turn a corner without bumping into a nun.” Delia grinned, and gripped her hand tightly.

_”give rest to the weary”_

“Of course I don’t blame you,” Delia said. “But I’m glad you finally did.”

_”bless the dying”_

“You know I never thought I’d feel like this here.”

“Like what Deels?”

_”soothe the suffering”_

The shorter girl looked up at Patsy, a sad smile on her face. “Content. Safe. Or…” she toyed with Patsy’s fingers, struggling to meet her eyes. 

_”pity the afflicted”_

“As safe as we can be.” 

_shield the joyous_

Patsy looked at her sadly. “Deels I’m so sorry. I know how unhappy this must make you-“ Delia shook her head, reaching up to kiss Patsy on the cheek, pulling away almost as a soon as the kiss landed. 

_and all for your love’s sake_

“That’s just it Pats. It’s starting not to.” 

_"Amen"_

The final amen was sung and for a moment the entire house was silent. Delia released Patsy’s hand with one last longing look. The nurse returned it and made her way to the autoclave, greeting the nuns as they came out of the chapel. The Welsh girl was about the move to the kitchen when Sister Mary caught her eye. She was glowing, as she normally was when she left compline. She was everything, Delia realized, that she never imagined herself being. Modest, demure, pious. The nun shot Delia a warm smile before following the others upstairs to the nun’s quarters. 

When Patsy returned from the autoclave she noticed the chapel door had been propped open. She snuck a peek inside and found Delia sitting in the back row with two tea cups. 

“It’s not fish and chips,” the girl said idly. “But I did sneak some Horlicks and scotch in if you want some.” 

Patsy shook her head. “You really are fond of tempting the wrath of God, aren’t you?”

Delia gave her girlfriend a sly smile. “I have it on good authority that He’s watching out for me.” 

Patsy took one last look around, slipped inside, and closed the chapel door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lines at the end are taken from the current version of the Book of Common Prayer and are from one of the prayers that closes out Compline. I'm not sure if the version used in the 60's is any different but it's one of my favorite prayers so I wanted to use it.


	4. Rubbers

Delia hovered anxiously in the door of the clinic’s back room, fiddling with the watch on the front of her nurse’s uniform. It was hardly noon and already she was feeling self-conscious. It was the first time she was wearing the crisp blue midwife’s uniform rather than the more formal lavender one she had sported at the London and, though she couldn’t quite explain why, it somehow _felt_ different. It was also the first time she had worked at the clinic without one of the other nurses directly supervising her, and for the most part she was handling it with, she thought, considerable calm. But a question had come up. She had come back to look for help, hoping for Trixie, Patsy, or hell even Barbara or Nurse Crane. However most of the women were either at the house on call, on rounds, or engaged with other women at the clinic.

Instead Sisters Winnifred and Mary Cynthia were in the back, organizing urine samples and ensuring that prescriptions were in place. Sister Mary Cynthia caught sight of the nervous looking midwife first. 

“Is something wrong with Mrs. Roscoe?” she asked. 

“No nothing to worry about,” Delia said fidgeting “it’s just well…you know this is her fourth child…”

“Is it her fourth already?” Sister Winnifred said “I could have sworn I was just popping out her first yesterday.”

“I think Mrs. Roscoe had the twins last year,” the other nun replied. “Charlie and Susan wasn’t it?”

“Oh that’s right,” she said offhandedly. “Busy woman.” 

“Well that’s actually what I wanted to ask you about,” Delia said, trying to keep the discomfort out of her voice. “She asked about applying for…well, you know…supplies…through the National Health…” The two nuns exchanged glances, a smile tugging at both of their faces as they picked up on their new comrade’s nervousness. “…and I mean obviously she can’t get them from us but I was wondering-”

“Oh no they get them through us,” Sister Mary Cynthia said matter-of-factly. 

Delia stared at the nun aghast. “They do?” 

“Of course,” Sister Winnifred said. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Well…I just thought that…” The two women stared at Delia expectantly. 

“If you have her speak to Nurse Turner before she leaves we’ll be sure that she receives a healthy supply of condoms after her next child is born.” Delia tried to keep her face even as the word ‘condom’ came out of Sister Winnifred’s mouth. Delia considered herself a fairly mature adult. She had worked on male surgical after all, subject to the same crass jokes about genitalia, out of control tongue lashings, and suggestive comments that had left Patsy aggravated and annoyed. But she had not been prepared to hear the word ‘condom’ spoken by the sweet faced nun. 

“Thank you,” she stammered. She was about to leave but stopped at the door. “What if…what if she asks about the birth control pill?”

Delia expected this to give the nuns pause. She knew that the two had differing viewpoints on the pill (it was still a frequent, if hushed, topic of conversation among the Nonnatus residents) and was sure that, if the condoms would not scandalize them, the pill might. 

“She’ll have to speak to Dr. Turner,” Sister Mary Cynthia said simply. “It’s prescription only whereas you don’t need one for condoms.” With that the two went back to their work as if they had just completed a totally routine conversation. 

A few moments after Delia left the room she heard the unmistakable sound of giggling. She shook her head, amazed by Nonnatus’s ability to keep surprising her. 

Patsy grinned as Delia recounted the story over coffee later that evening. “You poor dear,” she said. “That must have come as quite the shock.” 

“It was my first day! I didn’t know what to expect.” Delia took a sip of her coffee, trying to ignore Patsy’s soft chuckling. “Certainly not hearing the word ‘condom’ used in casual conversation by the same woman who spent half an hour reasoning out why the pill violates God’s providence.” 

Patsy shrugged. “Come now Delia, you know they’re as much midwives as the rest of us.” 

“I just thought that given how resistant the nuns were to supplying the pill through Nonnatus-"

“But you knew they were fine with condoms.” 

“Yes but I didn’t realize they gave them out themselves!” Delia found that in spite of herself she was getting flustered. If she were being honest she was embarrassed by how she had approached the nuns that afternoon, stuttering like a child while they had talked about the issue like adults. Patsy was still smiling at her, but it was much more sympathetic. “You could have mentioned it earlier you know.”

“I didn’t think to,” she replied honestly. Delia gave her a skeptical look. “Deels, you’re so much more…forward about stuff like this, I truly didn’t believe in would phase you.”  
“Did it phase you? When you first came here?” Patsy snorted. 

“You forget my prior experience with nuns came in the form of Catholic boarding school teachers. They put the fear of God in me. Or at least I thought they did until I met Sister Evangelina and understood what it means to really fear God.” The redhead stared pensively into her coffee cup as she brought up the dead woman. “Now imagine it’s your first full day as a midwife, you’ve already been gaped at for making an inopportune penis joke, and you’re sitting at lunch and all of a sudden Sister Evangelina brightly announces that the clinic has just gotten in a new shipment of rubbers.” Delia nearly choked on her coffee as the image came to her. 

“You must have been scandalized,” she said between laughs. 

“Trixie made fun of me for a week.”

“She didn’t actually use the word ‘rubbers’ did she?” 

“I might have exaggerated a little. At least I never had to watch her demonstrate how to use one.”

“That’s not a thing they do, is it?” Delia asked, torn between amusement and horror.

“Mrs. Turner has demonstrated at evening classes a couple of times,” Patsy said. “Although obviously she’s not a nun anymore. And of course Sister Winnifred has taken it upon herself to educate some of the women.”

“You’re joking.”

Patsy gave her a sly grin. “I’m not. To some of the…professionals no less. It was one of her pet projects at one point.” 

“So what you’re saying,” Delia said shaking her head in disbelief, “is that I’ve made a total fool of myself to my new coworkers?”

“Well, maybe not a _total_ fool. But Delia, we all did, when we started. If I’m being honest I will say I find it…unusual. Working with nuns. But you have to admit, it’s miles better than the doctors from male surgical.” 

Delia chewed on a biscuit. “At least I wasn’t constantly subject to theological arguments about whether or not I’m going to hell,” she said dryly.

“I suppose. Instead you were subject to doctors who spent their time yelling at every nurse whose arses they weren’t trying to pinch.” 

“That’s not true. They yelled at all the nurses, regardless of whether or not they were trying to pinch their arses.” 

Patsy gave her girlfriend a weak smile. “Surely Delia you, of all people, must feel more… comfortable just working with women. And they are women you know, habits and all.”   
Delia thought of the furtive laughs she had shared with Sister Mary Cynthia as the nun helped her prepare for her certification. She thought of the time she had stumbled across Sister Winnifred singing showtunes while preparing homemade Halloween treats for the local children. She thought of the expert way Sister Julienne handled her mother or aunt whenever they came to visit. She thought of Sister Monica Joan’s love of poetry, one she secretly shared, and the mourning for Sister Evangelina after her passing that was like no wake the Welshwoman had ever witnessed. 

“Of course I know that Pats. Now what’s this story about Sister Winnifred showing prostitutes how to use rubbers?” 

By the time Patsy was done relaying Sister Winnifred’s efforts to help the nightwomen of Poplar, Delia overcome with both laughter and admiration, it was late enough that they slipped hurriedly out of the café. Delia took advantage of the darkness to sneak her hand into Patsy’s coat pocket, grateful that the brisk evening air gave them an excuse to wear coats with long sleeves. Delia relished the late night. It was a time where she could belong exclusively to the two things she loved most: Patsy and nursing. There was no administrative work to be done at a clinic, no visiting family or letters home to deal with, no awkward round table discussions with the nuns in the living room. There was just her, the mothers of Poplar, and her girl. 

Nonnatus was quiet when they returned, the nurses asleep or awaiting their turn on call. Patsy yawned audibly, causing her girlfriend to smile. The redhead had been kept late the previous night dealing with a particularly stressful birth, and yet had agreed to go out with Delia despite how bone tired she was. “Go to bed love,” Delia said, before kissing her swiftly on the lips. “You deserve some rest.” Patsy smiled drowsily, apparently too exhausted to care about Delia’s brief, but public show of affection. 

“Good night,” she whispered before going up the stairs. Delia smiled after her and went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. She paused as she passed by the phone stool where Sister Winnifred was on call. The nun sat almost transfixed in the dim light, clutching her cross and praying silently. The lamp cast shadows on her rosy cheeks, making the woman look like a statue or some old photograph. 

“Twelve o’clock and all is well?” the nurse asked quietly. 

The nun opened her eyes suddenly. “Is it really midnight already?”

“No it’s only 10:15. Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.” 

“Did you and Patsy just get in?” the nun asked pleasantly. Delia smiled to herself. Though she resented the nun’s outspoken views on homosexuality, she couldn’t help but reflect on how much less insidious she was than some of the nurses she had lived with in the past, who would be quick to accuse or speculate about any nurse who returned to the nursing home later than was expected. 

“I got caught up in some of the midwifery stories Patsy was telling me. Did you really infiltrate a brothel to teach the women how to use condoms?” The nun blushed. 

“It was hardly that dramatic,” she said, blushing. 

“I’m impressed,” Delia said. 

“I know, I know, it’s not exactly the work I expected to be doing when I joined the order-”

“Oh it’s not that,” Delia said. “Well not just that. See when I was working at the London, the women could care less about their jobs or their patients outside of what they were assigned.” 

“See that’s always what seemed strange to me about nursing. When I was a teacher we were expected to be familiar with the lives of our students. I thought that with nursing you’d want to do the same but so many nurses are just so, well, clinical about the hardships their patients face.” 

Delia shrugged. “That’s the way it has to be sometimes, at least at the London. You see so many patients in a day, some of them beyond help, that you get weighed down if you invest too much feeling in them.”

“That just seems so strange to me,” the nun said quietly. 

“I’m not really one to say whether it’s strange or not.” She smiled. “But then I suppose it’s telling that I’ve switched uniforms.”

“Well if you’re asking me, I think you wear the new one quite well Nurse Busby,” the nun replied. All of a sudden the phone rang. After getting the details from the mother the nun put on her overcoat, gave Delia one last smile, and whisked out the door. Delia gave her a quick thumbs up as she went. _I didn’t realize she had been a teacher…_ Delia thought to herself. _She seems so young I just assumed this was her first vocation._ She put the kettle on to boil, as the next nurse on call, Nurse Crane, ambled down the step. 

“Anything interesting happen on your first day as a midwife?” the older woman asked kindly. 

Delia chuckled softly. “No, nothing out of the ordinary.”


End file.
